The Color of Fire
by wandering-nomad
Summary: Atrus attempts to reconsile the destruction wrought by his sons.


A thin mist danced around his knees, carried by a soft wind from the east. The red light of dawn barely illuminated the wooden dwellings. Clouds hung in the western sky, remnants of last night's storm.  
  
He revisited Sythiri often. It was by far the best example of his son's treachery, it was a painful reminder of what happened, all those years ago. And it was also a quiet place where Atrus could be alone with his thoughts.  
  
The people who used to inhabit this world were more advanced than most Atrus had met in the books he had written. The society was very family-orientated. Members of a family very rarely moved out of a residence after their education, staying for years on end to care and support for their parents. Those siblings that did move out of their family residences almost never moved out of the region. Most relatives lived within a half day's journey of each other.   
  
The only city on Sythiri was in the middle of a valley, the entire city seemed to be centered around a small lake, no more than a half a mile across. The water was pure and clean. It served as an area of public recreation. That was, until this world fell.  
  
Atrus had never seen the actual event, but the empty streets and charred walls of buildings told the tale well enough. Sirrus and Achenar had picked the right time for their treachery. One of the plants of this world secretes a flammable liquid from it leaves during the fall months. The inhabitants had always used these as a natural kindling. These plants were farmed and processed in large amounts. One of the primary processing plants was near the core of the city. The explosion had to have been as large as a city block. All of the buildings in the surrounding area were reduced to ash and dust instantly. The industrial district was the first place to be affected by the great fire. The wind that day must have been coming very strongly from the north east. The fire spread so quickly that it overtook the residential areas of the city within minutes, filling the air with deadly smoke. The people had no warning, they all of the residences were overtaken with fire. The wind then had to have changed direction, sending the deadly black cloud of smoke eastward. The buildings in that area of the city were untouched. It had to have still been early in the morning, or late at night, many of the skeletons Atrus had found were still in beds, covered in tattered sheets decayed by time.  
  
  
  
The scene was desolate. The great stone senate building loomed ahead, its great floors were blanketed in ash, the great murals on its walls were tarnished and damaged by smoke. What was once a symbol of a civilizations great accomplishment, now became a monument of its death. The tombstone for an entire world.   
  
Atrus walked wordlessly through the streets, the rising sun illuminating his path east. Until he came to the pillar. It rose out of the area where the processing plant once stood. Its great stone walls seemed impervious to harm; invincible. It was visible from anywhere in the city. Its pale white brick walls contrasted deeply with the ash black of the rest of the city. Each of the four walls of the great pillar was roughly 100 feet The walls were sloped slightly, and ended at a square pad at the top of the structure. The corners of the building were rounded off, all of the angles were rounded off and smooth. He circled around the building until he came to the opening on the north. The entrance was circular. He walked in. Atrus ignored the murals on the wall. He had never learned the Sythiri's language, so he could not tell his tale to them with words. Instead, the pictures told his story. About the fall of the city of D'ni. The defeat of his father. Gehn. The mural wrapped around the walls of this bottom floor, and as one ascended the staircase, the story continued. It told of Atrus ability to create gateways to other worlds. And that Sythiri was one of these worlds. It told of his sons, who at first he had loved and trusted. But as the tale progressed, we began to see darkness creep into his sons' eyes. Their once bright and joyful faces became expressions of hatred and malice. It told of how Atrus had been tricked by his sons, and how his sons too had been trapped. They told of the man who had rescued Atrus from his prison in D'ni. And how Atrus had finally severed the link between his sons and the living world. The top floor of the tower depicted the other worlds that his sons had destroyed. Atrus did not know if anyone had survived, but if anyone was alive, perhaps they would find some peace in knowing that their perpetrators were gone forever.  
  
There was one final flight of stairs on the top floor of the tower which lead to the roof. The entire extent of the damage was plainly visible. Black ash and rubble extended out for miles. To the northeast, the smoke-damaged buildings stood out from the rest of the scenery like a ghost town. The entire scene was cast in orange. The color of fire lit up the dead world once again. 


End file.
